


A Blithe Yule

by fadewithfury (foxmoon)



Category: Broadchurch, Secret Diary of a Call Girl (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Awkward Flirting, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Mistletoe, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 11:41:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13007025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxmoon/pseuds/fadewithfury
Summary: Holiday surprise fic!  Hardy falls for his neighbour as the Christmas season approaches.





	A Blithe Yule

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you @lostinfic, for your beta and reassurances that this isn't a pile of mess

Alec Hardy arrived at his flat, mind frayed and body ready to succumb to exhaustion. It was late, or early depending on who asked. Regardless, he needed to sleep. Tomorrow would be another intense day sorting out the strange details of the Linsbury Estate murders.

The woman who lived across the hall smiled at him and said something that didn’t register. In his peripheral vision, her features weren’t as clear. Just soft shapes in garish fluorescent light - but that smile drew his attention like a beacon. She would not smile if she knew the things he knew. A puzzle killer on the loose with no discernible victim pattern. The race against some arbitrary, ever-changing timeline to solve the riddles before he targeted someone else.

He fumbled for his keys under her curious gaze. It was rude to not acknowledge her, but equally rude to stare. Didn’t help that every time he encountered her, he couldn’t seem to find the bloody things. Or any coherent words to say for that matter - what could he say that wouldn’t lead to small talk?

Her door clicked shut just as he glanced over his shoulder to belatedly convey some sort of greeting. Hardy ground his teeth, and, miraculously, fished his keys out of his coat pocket.

When he left for work the next morning he found a travel mug sitting by his door with a note. He picked it up, its warmth soothing his palms, and opened the roughly folded slip of paper.

_Have a cuppa. You looked like you needed a pick-me-up. xx - Hannah across the hall_

“Hannah,” he whispered, for some reason keenly interested in remembering. He then inspected the contents of the mug. A sweet, aromatic waft of tea steam hit his face. He felt more awake just from the fumes. Its taste was nearly perfect to his liking - she must have been a smoker at some point too.

***

After three days, gruelling puzzles, and eighteen lead interviews later, Hardy ran into Hannah again - this time on the lift. Six floors felt like six million in her presence. Hardy mentally practiced conversations with her, because they’d been running into each other more often, and he really needed to get better at this sort of thing. None of it came naturally to him, so he settled for a nod and a half smile. Her answering grin made him feel parched. He sipped his tea from the - _bloody hell_ \- the travel mug she’d lent him. Embarrassment flared in his stomach. He probably looked like a lad with a daft little crush.

“You can keep it,” she said.

“It leaks.”

Her smile slipped slightly, but she didn’t miss a beat. “You broke it then.”

“No, it leaks if I tilt it like this,” he demonstrated. A few drops of tea escaped from the seam of the lid.

“Don’t tilt it like that then”

He sighed. She touched her tongue to her teeth at the corner of her smile.

She had this habit of looking like two different people at times: one mildly approachable in jeans and soft makeup, and the other in designer dresses with heels that accentuated calves in a manner that suggested she could kick through brick walls. This time she wore cuffed jeans and a nice yellow blouse with little blue flowers. He had difficulty looking at her directly despite how much he’d like to.

They exited the lift, shoulders brushing, and walked in the same direction through the foyer and out the building doors. Hardy’s heart beat faster, though more from anxiety. Should he keep talking to her? Was she keeping pace with him on purpose? He glanced her way, but she had parted from him once out of the building.

She slowed to hail a taxi at the corner. “Laters!” she called to him as it pulled to the curb.

“Hannah--” he blurted. God’s sake, what had gotten into him?

She had one foot in the cab already. “Yeah?”

“Enjoy your day.”

“You too.” She tucked her chin slightly toward her shoulder in a shy sort of way. That got the butterflies riled up in his stomach.

He added: “And, ehm, stay away from the Linsbury Estates and surrounding area.” He gestured to emphasize the large area he spoke of.

Hannah’s expression flickered from bright anticipation to scepticism. “Right...Oh! Yes, I’ve seen a bit about that on the news. Horrible.”

“Yeah. Ehm, it’s… I’m Hardy, D--” A loud lorry trundled past. Her hair fluttered around her face from the breeze it caused.

She tilted her head like she hadn’t heard him right. “You… what?”

 _Bloody traffic_. “Alec,” he clarified. “I’m Alec Hardy. My, ehm, name.”

“Bye, Alec.” She flashed a quick smile and ducked into the cab.

The rest of the day, he fought intrusive thoughts of better ways he could’ve handled the morning. Ask how she’s doing. Don’t ungratefully gripe about the mug or frighten her with ominous warnings. Tell her she looks nice. No, not that one. Not… yet. Normally he could dismiss daft social interactions on account of there being more important things to worry about. Normally he was better at not getting so bloody distracted.

A cold case tip came in that afternoon - another death at the hands of the Linsbury killer. It had all of the same qualities, but this one had occurred three years prior. Turned out that the tip came in from the killer himself - a ‘reward’ for solving the last three puzzles in a row and sparing three different lives. That informed his theory that the killer was selecting victims as it was convenient rather than due to some fixation related to the victims themselves. He directed Miller to oversee that one and then headed home for the night.

For the first time, or perhaps the first time fully aware of it, he looked forward to the potential of running into Hannah again on his way, but no such luck. All evening he made daft excuses to leave his flat. He needed paracetamol from the corner shop. He wanted to check out the new used book shop across the street. He might’ve dropped something in the foyer. He had better mobile reception in the hall. But they were all futile - she never showed.  

Inevitably his mind spiraled into nightmares as soon as he fell asleep, yet to his surprise, Hannah’s presence threaded through his dreams to disperse the horrors rather than join them.

***

After a cold, late autumn downpour, she found him soaked through in the lobby trying to salvage the papers from a case file that had blown from his hand during a particularly strong gust of wind. His foul language likely did him no favours, but she didn’t seem to mind as she helped him pick up the soggy sheets of smeared ink. Her eyes lingered discreetly on the picture of a victim, and she bit her lip as she handed it over.

“You’re _that_ detective.”

He swallowed thickly, curious about the emphasis but not enough to ask in this moment, and stuffed the paper back in the file. Rainwater dripped from his fringe and ran down the bridge of his nose. He undoubtedly looked the worst he’s ever looked, a giant wet hound he imagined, and yet she wasn’t scurrying from his presence in disgust. That was a start. And yet, he felt increased annoyance by his predicament - the heavy, drenched clothes and smell of London streets mixing with the grime of a long day, a chill from the drafty foyer. He had a hard time moving toward the lift to escape it because she was still standing there. Did she expect a conversation?

“Ehm… I need to, uh…”

“Take off those wet clothes?” She stepped aside for the post boxes.

“...Aye.”

“Sorry, can’t help you with that. Not right here anyway.” She toyed with her necklace and let her fingertips graze across her collarbone.

His throat went dry. Was she taking the piss? Either she had an odd sense of humour or she  was actually flirting with him. The longer he stood there the more likely he’d ask for clarity, because his heart was hammering faster than his brain could piece together a logical interpretation of this situation.

“Thanks for the, ehm… help,” he muttered as he swiftly brushed past on his way to the lift.

“No problem. ” She kept her focus on the stack of mail. He wondered if her sly smile was for him, or for one of the letters in her hands.

***

December arrived swiftly. Hardy left his flat around half eight after he’d received a tip that would be the ace up his sleeve in the Puzzle Killer case. Tonight was the night, he could feel it.

He found Hannah in the hallway, also on her way out. She smiled at him, a fleeting uninterested sort of thing that made him wonder if he’d lost her favour. His chest tightened at the thought, but it was inevitable.

He nodded back, and they walked side-by-side toward the lifts, which was more than a little frustrating. Why did that keep happening? He slowed so she could outpace him, yet it only drew attention to himself because his legs were longer, and therefore he was very obviously walking much slower out of nowhere. 

She wasn’t in the mood to notice. She wiped under her eyes with the heel of her hand, and looked up with a shaky sigh when she got to the lift. He entered tentatively.

“Hello,” he said, voice soft.

“Hi.”  She looked down and away from him. A stretch of silence followed, save for the soft jingle of Christmas music playing in the lift.

“Forgive me, but, is everything all right?” he asked.

She shook her head. His question had the unfortunate effect of encouraging a few tears to slip down her cheeks.

“Oh.” Empath swelled in his chest, he began to put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, but hesitated. “I’m sorry.”

Hannah sniffled. “I’ll be fine.” She rubbed her arm and offered a half smile. “Thanks.”

“So, erm… have you always lived in London?”

“Basically. Fulham. Why?”

“Just curious.”

He wanted to keep talking to her now that he’d started. He wished he could go straight to more interesting topics, but he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. Don’t ask about career, she could’ve just been fired. Don’t ask about family, there could’ve been a row. Don’t ask about politics or religion. He liked history, but would she? Sport was out of the question. Philosophy? Literature?

“Been to that used book shop yet?”

She seemed to perk up a little at that. “No, but I want to. Something funny about a brand new used bookshop. Love the old used bookshops, the ones that’ve been around for ages. But that new one has a small craft brewery in the back, did you know?”

“Bloody hipsters.”

She laughed and distractedly stroked her hair, which was woven in a loose plait and draped over her shoulder. His fingers curled as he imagined how the strands would feel.

“I’m gonna assume you’ve not been here forever since you’ve got that lovely accent.” She turned her gaze up to him and gave a slow smile. Her lashes were clumped from mascara and her previous tears, but she was no longer visibly upset. His cheeks flared with warmth.

“Um it’s, ehmm…” The lift doors opened to a foyer bright with Christmas trappings. He sank inwardly, not wanting to leave her. He scratched the back of his head as he followed her out. “I moved here three years ago from Broadchurch. But before that I was in, ehm, Sandbrook, then aye, I’m from Glasgow.”

“Mm. Got plans tonight?”

“Me? Just heading to the station.”

“Oh, right. Well, laters, Alec.” She folded her arms and headed for the entrance door that had been sloppily framed with Christmas lights.

“Wait,” he called.

She paused with her hand on the glass, ready to push it forward.

“You’ll get through it.” He cringed at the sound of his own platitude, but he felt weird not offering some sort of reassurance.

Her eyebrows tilted and she bit her lip. “Thanks.” 

***

December 20th arrived with an obnoxious assortment of wintry precipitation. Sleet, ice, intermittent snow flurries. The weather forecasters had been nattering about it all day, which inspired officers to mill about like they’d never seen frozen water droplets before. Hardy imagined the potential for rage-inducing traffic on his way home, and decided to slip out early to work there. He grabbed case files, the travel mug and his coat, and delegated a few tasks to the officers in the briefing room with all of it balanced in his arms. When he had finished, Miller put her hands on her hips and stopped him at the exit.

“You know tonight’s the holiday party, right? No one’s working tonight.”

“We’ve got a lot of paperwork to catch up on with the Linsbury killer solved. Best time to get work done.” He indicated the stack of files he held to his chest for emphasis.

“Oh, sod the paperwork, we’ve already got a place booked and everything. Come on, it’s Christmas, Hardy.”

“Fine. Make it up in the morning, then.”

“But you’ll be there then? There’ll be the awards bit.”

He exhaled frustration through his nose. He’d forgotten about the bloody awards. They weren’t the official annual police awards, but the station morale awards that the chief super handed out to encourage light competition and team-building. It was meant to be fun, but he only found them childish.

She rivaled his sigh of frustration with one of her own. “I struck off your name, don’t worry.”

“Thanks. Goodbye, Miller.”

***

Hardy arrived at his flat by four in the afternoon, and set up the kitchen table for an evening of paperwork. The sleet had shifted to fat snowflakes, but given the mild weather in the days preceding this storm, nothing of substance stuck. It was rather nice to watch it float down and make a noble effort to cling to treetops and nooks in the architecture of the building across from his. He put on a kettle and got to work.

Not an hour into his tasks, there was a frantic knock at his door. He pulled the door open after checking through the peephole.

“Hannah,” he said, surprised. “What’s wrong?”

Her nose and cheeks were red from the cold, and snowflakes melted in her hair. She looked a little harried, her scarf half-wrapped and coat askew. There was a faint waft of tobacco smoke that made him want a cigarette. Or perhaps he just wanted her.

“Thank god you’re here. Listen, may I come in? Please, just for a moment. There’s…” She looked down the hall toward the lifts. “Someone coming. She has a key and--”

“Yes, of course.” He moved and she practically lunged inside. He shut and locked the door, increasingly on edge. “Who? What’s happened?”

“My sister that’s what’s happened. She broke up with her latest bloke so she’s holed up at my place, and she was meant to go home this morning, but she’s stuck in London because of the stupid storm. I really don’t feel like dealing with her right now. She gets drunk and it’s just a mess. I was having a fag on the balcony and spotted her on her way home from visiting the shops.”

He wrinkled his nose. “In this weather?”

“I told you she’s just broken up. She goes through all the stages of grief--denial, anger, day drinking, retail therapy, one night stands, the whole lot. The weather just means she’ll be here doing those things longer.”

“You need a break from it then.”

“Yes, god.” She shed her winter-wear and flopped down on his couch with her mobile in hand.

Hardy stared at the woman he’d harboured a growing infatuation with over the past few months, who had willingly entered his flat and helped herself to his couch. It had been a long time since the stars had aligned in such a manner. Suddenly his jumper made him overheat, and he didn’t know what to do with his hands. Now he understood why she’d gone straight to her mobile for refuge.

Moments later, they heard her sister in the hallway. She spoke loudly to someone on her mobile as she entered Hannah’s flat. When the door closed, Hannah sighed and tossed her mobile to the cushion next to her.

He tugged at his earlobe.  “Erm, tea?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Hannah moaned, which triggered a tingly swoop.

He hurried to the kitchen to fulfill her request and to escape the inevitable pocket of blazing heat that had appeared where he stood. He returned with a mug of tea for her, and slightly more control over his senses.

“Thanks.” She smiled at him over the brim of the mug. “So. I saw that you found that serial killer.”

He looked away shlyly. Great. She’d seen him addressing the press. He couldn’t have looked worse than he had the day of the downpour. “Yes.”

“That mean you can finally have a bit of fun?”

“Well, there’s paperwork.” He glanced over to the kitchen table. He then thought of the party that would begin in a few hours. The snow had tapered off to a fine, floating dust, something of a non-event. He even thought he spied the sunset ghosting through the clouds. “But ehm… there’s this holiday party.”

Hannah sat forward. “Yeah? Oh, sorry. I’ll, uh, I’ll just finish my tea and go.”

“No, don’t! It’s a work party, I wasn’t going to go. Though if, well, if you.. Ehm… needed a break from your sister, maybe we could go?” His throat felt tight, like his heart was beating right there under his vocal chords. She met his gaze, the corner of her mouth quirked. Bloody hell, he was being too presumptuous, wasn’t he? “Ehm… just as a friend. Of course I don’t mean to suggest-- well, unless you…” He gave a great sigh and rubbed the back of his head. “There’ll be awards, maybe it’s too embarrassing.”

Hannah’s expression fell a bit, then she stood. “Sure. It could be fun. Might meet a handsome man in a uniform.” She shrugged a shoulder noncommittally.

“No one will be in uniform.”

“Doesn’t have to be wearing one right then. I’ve got a great imagination.”

Hardy put his hands on his hips. “What’s the fascination with uniforms?”

Hannah stifled a laugh. “Give me a moment. I’ll pop in on my sister and posh up a bit. Meet you downstairs at seven?”

He nodded. “I’ll phone a cab.”

***

Hardy stood outside as he waited. He’d changed his tie and combed his hair, and donned a charcoal peacoat that helped brace against the cold air. It was one he rarely wore, but he’d been told that he looked nice in it, so he hoped Hannah would agree.

He didn’t have to wait long. She emerged from the rotating door of their building in a long winter coat and colorful scarf. He could tell little about what she wore underneath, only that it involved a skirt and knee-high boots. Her hair fanned out over her scarf and lay in tousled loops around her shoulders. A smile bloomed and her eyes danced when she saw him, or perhaps that had been his own vivid imagination.

By the time they arrived at the restaurant, the weather had cleared and they had gotten to know each other a little better. He found her so easy to talk to that the nervous buzz drifting through his system had nearly vanished. She’d revealed her current occupation as a romance writer and host on a sex advice podcast, which he would search for as soon as he possibly could.

They entered the restaurant and were guided to a spacious loft where everyone was already mingling with cocktails and hors d'oeuvres. Elegant holiday music drifted up from the piano in downstairs, and holiday lights twinkled like stars in the rafters above them. Ellie, festively dressed in an ugly jumper and santa hat, spied them first, and swooped over to greet them.

“Hardy! Happy Christmas! We thought you wouldn’t make it. Who’s this then?” she said, grin wide as she reached for Hannah’s coat.

“I’m Hannah, his neighbour,” she said brightly. “My sister’s at my flat for the weekend and I needed to escape.”

“Well then, do help yourself to the bar. You deserve a drink if you managed to get this one out tonight.”

“Think I’ll do just that. Fancy a pint?” Hannah looked up to Hardy.

Without the coat, he could admire how the vintage, lace-lined cocktail dress accentuated her figure, which he only allowed himself the briefest of moments to do. A pint might’ve helped to ease the weird mix of sexual and nervous tension that he’d carried in the pit of his stomach since she climbed into the cab next to him. But he wanted to keep his wits about him.

“No thanks.”

“Right, be back.” She slipped through them to head for the bar.

Hardy watched her go, then gave Ellie a pointed glare. “Don’t.”

The mischief in her eyes didn’t fade an ounce. “I haven’t said a word.” She patted him on the shoulder. “Relax, Scrooge, it’s Christmas.”

He rolled his eyes.

Ellie glanced toward Hannah, still at the bar. “I expect you to tell me everything.”

“I owe no explanations.”

She laughed. “Fine, be a knob. I’m gonna enjoy myself.”  She then returned to the circle of coworkers.

Hannah rejoined him moments later, wine in hand and a glass of water for him. “When’s this award ceremony you mentioned?” she asked.

He accepted the water gladly. “I’d give it a few more rounds.”

“Great. I’m _famished._ ”

The evening progressed, and the restaurant downstairs shifted over from fine dining to a posh nightclub. The piano had been exchanged for a self professed ‘luxury lounge DJ,’ and Hardy’s comfort level decreased further, if that were possible. To get through the absolute dreadfulness of it all, he focused his attention on Hannah, who was by all accounts in her element. So much so that he discovered a few more things about her. She could charm just about anyone, including the women. She liked to dance, but not with anyone. And she never drank more than the single glass of wine.

She also didn’t leave him alone for too long, despite the likelihood that he was vastly outnumbered by men far more appealing than himself. She swayed to the music on her re-approach. He stood a little straighter.

“Enjoying the smooth island grooves of DJ luxury lounge?” she said, and swiveled herself in a weird sort of mocking dance, complete with duck lips.

He chuckled, and the smile lingered. “Now I am.”

When the morale awards began, Hannah slipped her arm through his and guided him behind the throng of people to the catering buffet. This was the part he had been dreading, and she seemed to pick up on his anxiety. Instead of teasing him, she stood silently by his side so he wouldn’t be alone.

“I begged them not to call me up for anything,” he said. He leant back against the buffet table and gripped its edge.

“Think they will anyway?”

“Nah. I’ll leave if they do. Ellie knows better.”

They watched for a moment. There was an outpouring of laughter and clapping as one of the patrol officers came up on stage to accept an award for most likely to direct traffic in the rain.

“It seems nice, actually. They’re having a laugh,” she observed.

Hardy ground his teeth. “I don’t like making a spectacle.”

“Hey, look up,” Hannah said.

He did. A sprig of mistletoe dangled above them. Several in fact, with clusters of white berries and stems wrapped in red ribbon. He forgot about the awards entirely as the whole world tilted.

“They’re not looking,” she whispered.

“Are you serious?”

“It’s not a spectacle if they’re not paying attention.” She bit her lip with a cute little shrug.

“I thought you were here to chat up a handsome uniformed officer.”

“Have you ever worn a uniform?”

“I’ve got a ceremonial uniform in the closet.”

“Well then. I think I’ve succeeded.”

He didn’t get it at first, then when it clicked, he snorted. “That was bad.”

She smiled. “I couldn’t help it, it’s the music. Makes me feel like, like I can be smooth, you know.”

“Bad and smooth don’t have to be mutually exclusive.”

She turned to face him, and rested her hand next to his. He felt her fingertip brush his knuckle. “What d’you say then? It’s tradition. Or are we still here as friends?”

He remained glued to the buffet table he’d been leaning against, too shocked at the turn of events to find the courage to face her squarely. He titled his face toward her - she was so close he could see the Christmas lights reflected in the rich amber-brown of her eyes. If someone had asked his opinion on mistletoe a month ago, he’d have said it’s a nuisance weed, _pure cakey_ , but now he had second thoughts.

He felt her grasp his tie through the day-dreamy haze of anticipation. Her eyes dropped to his lips, and his body swayed towards hers of its own accord. Their lips met, soft and sweet, and over too quickly. He could barely open his eyes all the way after, so lost to the feel and smell and taste of her all around him. She still had her chin lifted up toward him, a little smile on her lips.

“Happy Christmas,” she said.

He smiled sluggishly. “Thanks to you.”

“Oh, I’m just starting.”

_The end_


End file.
